


a world on fire

by ebony415



Series: together in a burning house [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Author Is Sleep Deprived, F/M, Historical Hetalia, Inter-War Period, M/M, Possible historical inaccuracy, World War II, everyone is a dick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:33:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26150464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebony415/pseuds/ebony415
Summary: Reeling from the Great War, Germany wants nothing more than to take his power back. He was a feared empire once, and now he is nothing more than the Allied Powers' captive. Austria, separated from both her husband and the nation she loves the most, wants to simply live in peace with Germany, something the Treaty of Versailles strictly prohibits. Just as before, she finds Germany perfectly willing to break the rules...but Germany's plans include far more than marriage to Austria, and it's only a matter of time until he burns the whole world down.
Relationships: Female Austria/Germany (Hetalia), Female England/Germany (Hetalia), France/Germany (Hetalia), Germany/Female North Italy (Hetalia)
Series: together in a burning house [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1898977
Kudos: 15





	1. What Remains

_January 1922_

_Berlin, Germany_

Democracy sounded good when America said it, smiling and flaunting her stability and her modern ways.

But democracy is no good for Germany. His 'elected officials' are corrupt and inept; his systems are failing, and his economy is being crushed under the weight of all the debt he owes to Britain and France.

They come to collect the payments, every so often. France snatches the envelope from his hand and counts the money, slapping Germany across the face hard enough to split his lip and laughing at him. Britain simply smiles at him and says, "Hand it over," and Germany does.

Every time, he says, "I can't keep going like this. My economy is going to hell."

"Shut the fuck up, Kraut," France replies, every time, and hits him again.

Sometimes Britain feigns concern; sometimes she pats his shoulder and says, "I'm sure an industrialized nation like you can find the money"; sometimes she gets angry, snapping that if he can't pay the reparations he ought never to have invaded her ward (which he has cursed himself for a thousand times), and, occasionally, she smirks. 

"I'll give you a discount on this payment if you give me something, Germany," she says, gently pushing him into a kneeling position.

Before, that would have been too much for his Prussian pride. He would have snapped, told Britain that he was treaty-bound to be her cash cow, but not her sex slave, and she could go to France if she wanted such services. But he knows, now, that his economy is stretched to its breaking point. He _needs_ a discount on the reparations payment, even if his mind is screaming at him that this is hardly a discount at all. So he does as Britain orders, imagining it is Austria above him, that he is pleasing her on the wedding night they are finally allowed to have. 

He hates this _weakness,_ but Kaiser and country (well, Reichstag and country now) are everything.

So he suffers with his inept democratic government, because he knows most of Europe would balk if he tried to reinstall a royal family. He pays the Allied Powers, takes all the anger and the blows and gives his services when he is ordered.

For the country.

When Britain waltzes into his little apartment (they won't even let him have a nice house, for God's sake), he holds back all the venom in his voice when he says, "Your payment, ma'am." And when she smirks and pushes him down to his knees, he does as she says without a word.

 _For the Empire,_ he thinks, _the Empire I'm too crippled to have now, but I will, someday._

_January 1922_

_Moscow, Russia_

The Great War had not been kind to anyone, and Russia was no exception. He is wracked by civil war; the monarchists, the republicans, the communists, and the anarchists battle for control of his fields, his cities, his infrastructure.

Well, whatever is left of them.

He had risen up, nearly five years ago, and cut out his own heart--a heart that had been sustaining him for centuries. The Romanov family was gone, and although Russia cried his heart out while he was getting rid of them, he had thought he was better off.

He misses them, now. Not their asinine insistence on absolute monarchy, or the old czar's incompetence leading armies, or the czarina's increasing dependence on that crazy mystic man, but the stability that being ruled by a single dynasty brings. 

_If only I could bring you back,_ he thinks mournfully, _but I am truly lost, now._

_January 1922_

_Vienna, Austria_

Austria has had a year and a half to get used to her new existence, but it still feels wrong. Her borders are far smaller than they should be, and the morale of her people is lower than ever. They were _proud_ to be Austrian, once upon a time; they cheered when the Emperor and the royal family rode past, they kept the nation in their hearts and in their prayers. Now her people see her as a defeated, decayed nation, and she can feel it in her bones.

_I was a mighty empire, once. Every nation in Europe wanted to be me; every monarch wanted to be like the Hapsburgs. I forced enemy nations into submission. I played the music in the Concert and all of Europe danced._

_But when the war came, I crumbled. For all our talk of military and cultural domination, it was only Germany who had anything close to a powerful army. And even then, it wasn't enough.  
_

Her President does the best he can, and truly, she is in a better position than Germany, being fucked sideways by every Allied nation (she's sure they do it in the most literal sense, too; Britain and France are nothing if not fond of taking advantage of vulnerable nations), and certainly in a better position than Russia, still in the throes of civil war and not sure who he is anymore. The Romanovs _were_ Russia for centuries; in the madness of war, he rose up and cut out his own heart, but she's sure that he wishes more than all the world that he could put it back, that he could make himself whole again.

It is how Austria feels, without her Emperor.

And it is how she feels without Hungary. She may have been irritated that she married a rather spineless nation, who said whatever she wanted to hear and had little to contribute to their empire, but now all she sees are empty spaces. She wakes up alone, and the other side of her bed is cold, and it reminds her of all she has lost.

The man she once called husband is all alone, off in Budapest, and probably happier without her. He must praise the Allied Powers for setting him free, even as she mourns for what she lost. And the man who she knows with more certainty with every passing day that she loves is folding in on himself, his military and economy weakened beyond repair, the Allied Powers always hovering over him, waiting for him to falter, to miss a reparation payment, to recruit too many soldiers and sailors, to make a single wrong move that allows them to swoop in and humiliate him further.

They were supposed to take on the world together, her and Germany and Hungary, and leave their enemies burning behind them.

 _They_ were the ones that burned.

And Austria is the one who lit the match.

Every day, when she looks out at the people no longer proud to be hers, when she feels the too-rapid pulse of democracy beneath her skin, when she feels the cold side of the bed and realizes Germany and Hungary will never come back to her, she thinks of the moment she declared war on Serbia. It felt like the right thing to do then, when people still called her an Empire and Bosnia was gasping beneath her thanking Serbia for bringing her home. 

_Nothing is worth such a war,_ she thinks bitterly. _Once upon a time we won the world in a war, but now all war does is take. I want nothing more to do with it._

_All I want in the world is my life back, my love back._

_But it is never to be._


	2. The Trouble with Italy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the no updates! And, as usual, for the standard dose of inaccuracy.

_October 1922_

_Rome, Italy_

The war is long over, and she is far away from those warmongers, Germany and Austria, but Italy still feels restless.

Her borders are still incomplete. Her citizens are still hungry. And she is still so far from an empire.

The war was supposed to solve things for her. _England and France_ were supposed to solve things for her.

But France is just a coward who's had one too many failed revolutions, and England is just a colonizer with an affinity for stolen kisses and pretty lies.

She's had so many gods over the course of her life. She hasn't been united for long, but _Italia_ as a concept has been, ever since the Romans looked at the peninsula and thought, _This is a great place to start an empire._ She is not Rome (she is reminded of that every day, when she sees the clusterfuck her poor capital has deteriorated to), but she has shadows of her memories.

She stares up at the sky, and thinks of them all. _Please,_ she prays to whoever might be listening, _don't let me languish with these ineffectual leaders. Give me a heart that can beat strong and fast. Give me a leader I can be proud of, and that is proud of me. Give me an empire, the sort I haven't had since that sixteen-year-old boy dressed in purple threw down his crown at the barbarians' feet._ _Give me a man who can do what my king cannot._

_Give me a way to take my power back._

She sighs and walks further down the street.

 _Roma eterna,_ she thinks, _but in what state?_

Perhaps the trick is to pray to all the gods. Or perhaps it has nothing to do with them at all, but the boiling resentment Italy can _feel_ in the hearts of her citizens. But it does not take long for Italy's wish to be granted.

She can feel it in her heart one day, her heart that is spasming and beating far too fast. At first, it is just pain--jackboots marching down cobblestone streets, people screaming and the tight clench of fear in her king's heart, and then a sharp intrusion, but then--the speeches.

 _Oh,_ the speeches.

Benito Mussolini, the leader of those black-shirted thugs that have taken over her government, is her prime minister now. And she would despair at yet another military dictator, if it were not for the way he talks about her.

He speaks of her as though she were his religion, his reason to live. _All that we do, we must do for Italy,_ he says, and the black-shirted men behind him scream their assent and salute him with daggers outstretched, and she thinks, _Oh, it is like Rome of old,_ and that too-rapid beating of her heart feels good all of a sudden.

She should know better than to depend on fickle leaders. Dictators' minds can change like the seasons. But she's united, under a man who believes that all he does must be for her, and when she listens to him speak, when she watches his men salute him, when she hears the devotion in the voices of every one of his Fascists, she feels as though all that she hoped for can finally come to pass. 

She can have her land. She can have food for her citizens. And she can become an empire once again, Germany's ambitions and England's lies be damned.

_Germany._

She loved him, once upon a time. She loved him, and he drew her into an alliance with Austria, who, thinking she was some mighty empress, declared war on Serbia and let the whole Continent burn around her.

She's fairly unscathed, save her forced divorce from Hungary. (Not that Austria ever seemed to care for that poor sap anyway.) And Italy knows that Germany is in hell, at the mercy of England and France, which is _never_ a good place to be. 

He thought he was strong. But now they will make sure he can never be strong again.

 _You chose the wrong side, Germany,_ she thinks. 

She sits down at her desk to write him a memo, puffed up with pride in her new leader. 

_Dearest Germany,_

_I hope captivity is treating you well, and that the Allied Powers are not too cruel of masters. Know that I have refused to live that way._

_Italy_

_November 1922_

_Berlin, Germany_

The news of what happened in Rome, and _that fucking memo,_ make Germany's already restless heart race.

He is completely unfamiliar with democracy, and his Prussian nature balks at it. How could the common people know what to do with an entire _nation?_ It was hard enough to get his various German states to unify, but that was done by those of noble blood. He had a royal Kaiser and an aristocratic Chancellor, and if he was forced to accept a constitution, then his Kaisers ignored it every chance they got.

It was why he loved them. 

His heartbeat was controlled, even, like a soldier marching. He had one man to rule him and a few families to own him; he had a great military to support him and great industries to sustain him, and all was right in the world.

Now his Kaiser is gone, living in exile with the Allied Powers baying for his blood. His aristocracy has scattered, his military is crippled, and his industrial buildings lay in ruins.

And his _heart_. Germany hadn't even thought about the difference in monarchies' and democracies' hearts, but ever since his Kaiser was overthrown and the Weimar Republic installed in its place, Germany's heart has been _racing._

 _God, is this how America feels all the time?_ he thinks, and then immediately, _I fucking hate it._

Italy has a monarchy _and_ a prime minister who holds her, only her, in his heart. He has a corrupt Reichstag that accomplishes a grand total of nothing.

Fuck democracy. Fuck the war. And fuck the Treaty of Versailles.

Germany wants to take his power back more than anything.

_Vienna, Austria_

_December 1922_

At long last, the Allied Powers have allowed Germany and Austria to meet. _Only in Vienna,_ Britain says coldly, _and only for Christmas Day. That is all._

She is sure Germany tried to protest, but Austria dares not. A day may not be much, but that is more than they have been allowed for the last four years, and she does not want to push her luck.

He arrives early, slipping into the Vienna train station on the last train on Christmas Eve. She throws her arms around him, and leads him back to her apartment almost running. He laughs and laughs, but she cannot help but notice that his breath is labored as he tries to keep up with her.

"Oh, _fuck,_ it's been too long," she says, pulling him into her bedroom and practically throwing his skinny form on the bed. "I need to take you, _now_ \--"

She swears she can feel him shaking. She looks down at him, and realizes that he has gone as white as the sheets below him. "Germany--?" she asks.

"I'm sorry," he says. "It's just...England, she...it's been a painful four years."

"Oh, Germany, I'm so sorry," she whispers. "Of course. I didn't realize. I..."

"No, but if you need to..." Germany looks so resigned, and Austria hates it. "I don't want to deny you. I don't know when they'll let you see me--or any other nation--again. I can take it."

" _Germany,_ " she says, shaking her head. "One day, you'll get your military back in order, and give a big fuck-you to Britain and France. And then we'll marry, and I'll have all the time in the world to do this to you."

"So considerate of you," says Germany, smirking. "Perhaps democracy is good for you."

She swats at him and laughs. "I fucking hate democracy. Makes my heart beat like a jackhammer."

"So it's not just my corrupt-ass Reichstag?"

"No," laughs Austria.

They talk all through the night and into the morning, scared to sleep for a moment. This may be the only time they are allowed together, and they'll be damned if they spend it sleeping. They talk about their disaster carousels they call governments, and Austria becomes more and more scared for Germany.

He is unstable. His heart beats even faster than hers. And she sees his scars, and the still-fresh bruises Britain and France have left on him.

When he explains what Britain makes him do for 'discounts' on his reparations, she sees red, and she hates that there is nothing she can do about it.

Germany lets her kiss him, a proper, burning kiss, when he goes to the train station on Christmas night, and that is all the convincing she needs. One day they _will_ be married, and powerful again--even if they have to burn the whole world down to do it.


End file.
